Retributions Of The Lost
by Narcotic Necrophilia
Summary: When the world is spiraling into a forbidden chaos, who will take action first? Mature audiences only, due to rape, extreme violence and gore, adult humour, sexual situations, and strong language.
1. Meeting

Once, twice he kissed her lips, putting on a show for the security cameras. Nothing romantic, just a simple peck, while the second touch lingered for a millisecond longer. It was all strategic, all in the plan. Misa hushed her giggles and walked away, more like a skip, pink in the cheeks as the other strode off in the opposite direction. It was all a private joke with an oncoming punch line.

Clicking noises against stainless linoleum floors echoed through the long hallway came from the hard heels of his shoes. The scenery morbidly reminded him of a hospital with the corporate colors that were supposed to disguise it as a normal building. Thankfully, it lacked the sickening scents of chemicals and occasional death. The door opened for him down the hallway from inside the surveillance room by the hand of Touta Matsuda. The mans face held an excitedly eager expression, much to the approaching male's dismay.

"Light! Misa-Misa looked so happy walking away!" exclaimed the youngest of the Task Force members, besides Light himself, in an tone of awe. His smile only widened at the victim of this verbal 'assault' small smile in return, nervous as it was. "Congratulations! You're such a good boyfriend!" This conversation was making it seem like something much different. Faintly, it was as if Matsuda was imagining himself as the 'lucky' girl herself, and what he would like in a boy. Disturbing in the least.

"Matsuda, that's quite enough. We have enough work to do, without your blabbering enthusiasm about my sons girlfriend." Soichiro Yagami's tone was as gruff as ever, thick with exhaustion at trying to deal with both this case and the man that was a identical in energy as a wind-up toy at its gear being turned to the maximum amount. "Take off your mental tiara and get back to work." He rubbed at his receding hairline that was beginning to streak with the early signs of old age.

Matsudas face fell a little. "O-oh... Sorry Cheif-- Deputy Director, I mean." His facial expression could be described as comical.

Finally, Light spoke up. "You called us all here, Ryuzaki?"

The man that had been perched in a black computer chair like an exotic bird, one arm wrapped about the knees that pressed into his diaphragm, deep ebony hair as messy as ever, and a bony hand twirling a spoon in a tea cup of bone china, raised his voice as well. "Ah, yes." And said no more as he sipped at coffee that was sweetened by over a dozen spoonfuls of pure sugar. Apparently, he had never heard of Splenda before, or the word 'diabetes'. His words failed to continue even after noisily slurping the whole contents.

To the annoyance of the group gathered there.

The only brunette shifted his stance, crossing his arms over a chest clad in a green turtle neck that hugged the lank form, one hip jutted out from this particular foot placement. "Well, Ryuzaki, the explanation?" he questioned a bit icily, patience thinned by a lack of attention to his previous inquiry.

Though the one known as Ryuzaki raised his head and cocked it back at a strange angle, he didn't speak. As if to spite the other, he placed a cube of sugar into an open mouth and sucked on it with his tongue wrapped tightly around it. No room for manners of course, which rose the effect of a huffing noise, followed by the clearing of a throat.

"I will be temporarily leaving for a short amount of time." A simple answer of course. "Yagami-san shall be in my stead until I return. That is all. "His head swiveled back to the screens in dismissal.

"The Kira investigation isn't even close to being solved. We have no suspects, and Kira has been killing once again with a vengeance. You can't just go off on some holiday, Ryuzaki," stated Aizawa rather angrily. This was all getting nowhere in his opinion. "We should all remain here and work on this case, and arrest this damn murder! Priorities should come first before others!"

The Deputy Director nodded, continuing the argument with his own support. "I agree, Ryuzaki. The sooner we capture Kira, the sooner we can all relax. Dismissing the case for a second, even--" He was cut off by a voice speaking from the largest screen, that a moment before had went white with a W printed in dead center. Watari.

"L, the departure is in ten minutes."

"Of course, Watari."

The screen flickered back to camera footage.

Awkwardly, Ryuzaki stretched one leg out, and with a smack, one foot hit the floor with enough force to send the rest of him upwards and forward. The sight was familiar to a rather confused and uncoordinated flamingo. In a stance of a hunched over back, like it held the weight of the world on his bony shoulders, and countless circles under big black eyes from insomnia that stretched over a lifetime without sleep, the world's greatest detective gave an uncharacteristic yawn, probably a fake. "The thought of long travel tires me out."

Unrealistic.

The room just stared, still in the heat of the argument. Even as the raven-haired male dug his skeletal hands deep within his jean pockets, and shuffled to the door, they said nothing. Even as the door closed with his departure, still they said nothing.

Later on in the evening, Light Yagami found himself sitting in one of the hotel rooms on a plush couch across from his so-called girlfriend, Misa Amane. A plate of assorted sweets and snacks sat on the glass coffee table between them. The brunette relaxed in his seat, arms crossed behind his head, one leg propped up comfortably upon the other, whilst the blond was talking spasmodically about her day. Oh, she had done this with so-and-so, and that with him, and this with her, and went to there with them, blah blah blah. He nodded at the appropriate times, and took an occasional snack off of the ornate tray set upon the table before them every few minutes. Just waiting, just... passing the time. Glancing at his watch in a casual fashion, inwardly he smiled. Victory was his in just twelve more seconds, eleven now.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Oh, he just couldn't stand it!

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One...!

A sudden choking sound was emitted from in front of him, and his vision snapped upwards to focus on the wheezing figure. There was Misa, struggling to breathe, with noises of internal strangulation. As she heaved and clutched her throat, looking around desperately for her one-sided love with wide eyes, streams of red began to trickle down her already lipstick-red lips in a steadily gaining flow. Indents were apparent on the sides of her neck, and with the constant contraction of the muscles that were fighting to pass the obstruction, the problem was worsening.

More and more blood began to drip not only from just her mouth, but from the holes the toothpick that had been lodged there had made. But it was being gurgled now like mouth mash, choked upon. The woman's eyes had already rolled back into her head with the beginning of convulsions.

And he did nothing. Just stared with a faux look of horror until she slid off the couch, clutching her throat in her final moments with a vice grip. Jumping up, he scooped her into his arms, yelling. Frantically yelling for the cameras, for anyone that could 'help'! As his masterpiece was completed with the faint tremor of Misa's body before tensing muscles laxed and fell limp, he faintly wondered if she had known it was coming.

Kira did his best not to fall into a fit of laughter.

'Misa Amane

At 19:06 of November 5th, 2004, dining with her boyfriend, she chokes on a sweet that had a toothpick pinned in the middle, swallowing the toothpick as well. Gets this lodged in her throat and begins to choke and convulse, before the toothpick is shoved through both sides of her neck, causing blood to be formed in the throat canal, which is choked on. Dies at 19:09 from strangulation of her own blood.'


	2. Surprises

It was not often that they had a field trip. It was even less common that only three of them took a trip. Some special occasion, but they all knew what it was about. Near and Mello were a part of the group that was departing. Couldn't be any more obvious to the children who stared after in envious awe.

The third was a bit of the stereotypical 'odd one out'. Usually, the letters closet to L were the candidates that were considered and monitored closely, most likely to succeed in the position. In this case, however, this boy was far away from that: Z. Zero. Even his name was an indicator of his status in the Wammy house. It was as if he had never even existed; when he had been called to leave, not even Near could recall who that was. It was not that they had never seen him. Simply, he was merely a living ghost. Never spoke to anyone else, and was never spoken to, didn't go outside, or anywhere near other people. A silent shadow, a recluse in the dark.

He had arrived in late November, two years previous. Quillish Wammy himself had escorted the famished child in, brought all the way from Paris. Curiously, the seven year old barely knew French, but it was passed off as immigration with his late parents. More so, was the left side of his face, that past his mouth was swathed in layers of bandaging, at all times. He was smart enough to be there obviously, but no one could tell or recollect how smart.

Except L, of course.

They were taken in a sleek black car, possibly a BMW model, in the backset. The eldest, the blonde Mello, sat in the right seat, a deep scowl placing lines on his forehead in large creases. In the middle was Near, twirling a strand of hair without pigmentation around a small index finger. His other hand a small figurine, the focus of his sight. The left side of the car was the seat of the youngest, curled up into a tight ball in the seat like a potato bug.

A big ball of black clothing that hid away pale white skin on a black leather seat. Like he was trying to melt into it and disappear. Highly likely. Extreme cases of agoraphobia were like that, or maybe lack of frequent human contact lingered and being close to others had become nauseating. Either way, Mello still scowled, not only for having to sit next to his rival, but for the other two even being there. He was fed up of being second, and hell if he would even think of being third!

"Mello, your face will become permanently frozen that way if you remain with that facial expression for a long period of time." The soft monotone of Near's voice was latent with a bit of quiet glee, masked by the usual remote bored-like quality. There was a secret enjoyment of how he affected the over-dramatic blond, not that he ever let it show.

Before the blond could retaliate, however, the car pulled up to the front of a large hotel. A man that they all recognized as Watari, the accompaniment to L himself, opened the car door and began to lead them out. Zero took the longest, not wanting to leave the now empty sanction of the vehicle. Eventually, Watari had to reach in, scooping out the youngster, and carry him inside, with the trail of grumblings and mutters from the ensemble behind him. Again, Mello's doing. What made this nobody so important, is all he could think, in near fury.

They were brought inside, and straight into the nearest elevator, bypassing the welcome and registration desk. Of course, no one else was being allowed to enter this building. It was 'under maintenance', so that no harm could come to the man staying in its premises. None but the party advancing slowly upwards, a few staff, and the occupant that sat in one of the highest floors were allowed in. No mistakes could be made, not one. They all knew the consequences if it was otherwise.

Since none of them bore electronic devices, they strode straight into the luxury suite, herded in like sheep before the door was locked behind them with Watari's free hand. The format was basic and casual, resembling an expensive house. The living room, the one they entered automatically, had three large couches and a love seat, spread out in a spaced circle, and at the head, nearest to the coffee table that was decorated with a large variety of sweets and a small tea set, was a large chair. In it was the man who had called them to this place: L.

"Please take a seat. There is much to discuss." An emotionless monotone that was extremely recognizable. Zero was unresponsive, like he had fallen asleep, though the other two made their separate ways through furniture and took seats, across from each other. Mello could not be expected to sit so close to the 'big-headed albino' that he utterly loathed to bits and pieces, especially after being forced to do so during the forty-five minute trip to this location already. And with a chance of seating this time, no doubt it would be closes to his idol. Near was neutral, and took the couch closest to himself.

A little mumble came from the elderly gentleman, which was soothing enough to the small raven that he wriggled down, but sat right where his toes had touched the floor with bare feet, in a movement that he basically just dropped, and flopped forward like a sack of flour, onto his face, and stayed that way. Good enough, he decided. Another scowl was cast at him by the eldest boy, but it wasn't even noticed by the face that was buried into the carpeting that hinted of spilled sugar. No one else seemed to notice, or cared to.

L took a strawberry dipped in cheesecake and licked off the white coverings with flicking motions of his tongue. His audience waited, but even when the man had finally devoured the whole fruit, he repeated the same process over again. The patience began to ebb to irritation. The man seemed to generate that effect often, and didn't seem to realize. After which, he grabbed a hold of the handle of a small tea cup between his thumb and forefinger, full of cold coffee, and sipped at it for a moment.

Before the breaking point, the hunched over detective licked his fingers and cleared his throat. "Watari, if you will, more coffee." Not surprising that this was why he spoke.

The tension returned at the moment the elderly man smiled and went to wander deeper into the suite, out of their sights.

"As it must've came to your attention by now, there is a large chance, ninety percent of one, to be exact, that I will be killed by Kira." L took another slurp of sugar-soddened coffee, before replacing the now empty cup on it's saucer, and flinging the unused arm around his knees once more. "A successor is necessary, before anymore of a continuation into the case."

His nonchalance as he snatched another fruit from the tray, this time a melon, dipped it in molten cheesecake, and plopped it into his mouth was met with a morbid and yet excited silence.

Two of the three looked to the great man seated so elegantly in their minds upon the large armchair, while the youngest lay face down on the floor where Watari's feet had been, never having moved from his position since he had crawled down. But now, his only eye was shut tight, as if he was in pain; it went unnoticed due to the eager excitement and anxious waiting.

A mistake.

"After a good deal of pondering the matter, I have finally made my decision," The detective didn't notice the light creak of the door, and the glow of dark eyes lingering in the shroud of darkness cast upon the face in which they were held. The fourth guest, this time unexpected, had arrived. "And that is for--"

A scream. The high-pitched one belonging to the loud blond, as something flew over him, the end of the shadow smacking him right in the back of the head, so that he fell forward. Near looked over to him, and nearly missed the crash of china and the glass of the table shatter as two bodies fell upon it in unison, a hooded figure on top of their idol, who looked on in a wide-eyed stare, mouth open as if he was determining whether to call out or not.

The attacker snickered, an eerie noise, before wrapping fingers so dirty that the skin color was impossible to accurately establish in the detectives wild hair, and abruptly tugging his head upwards, only to slam it down on the shards of glass with a giggle. A choking sound was what he received, as he dragged the man up with him, and threw him with full force into the wall, knocking over vases and the laptop that had been inconveniently placed on the wall-side long table. Crashing was all they could hear, and the little black ball on the floor climbed under one of the couches, whimpering inaudibly under his breath.

Near had went to help Mello up off the floor, while the blond wanted none of it, wanting to save his idol that was being brutalized, and slammed his fist straight into the smaller's face, inwardly smirking. Stunned, the boy still sat, before another punch was driven in, hitting him in the eye and backwards. Amidst all the confusion, it wouldn't be noticed.

As the faithfully devoted Watari came back into the room, a serious expression on his face as he ran unusually agile towards the fallen L who was now being smacked around, unable to fight back with the endless assaulting barrages. Only to be met with the flick of a knife to his throat and straight through it as the man turned at the last second, other hand attached to L's left ankle, twisting it.

With wide eyes blinking as his father-like figure tumbled to the floor lifelessly, the detective's other foot tried to slam forward and catch the hooded figure off guard, in a futile attempt. He was too weak and dizzy from losing so much blood so quickly that it was like a simple doggy paddle kick, falling to the floor. Once more, with a cackle that made the two children that had been oblivious because of their bickering fully aware, the hooded man repeatedly slammed the head of their idol into the glass-covered ground.

Mello was the first to respond, tearing himself off Near with a angry cry, to throw himself onto the man's leg, hitting at his back, only to be knocked off with the figure's elbow into his face. He let out a yelp, before Near, grasping tightly onto the toy he hadn't let go of since the orphanage, threw it as hard as he could at the person's head and hit his aim.

For a moment or so, the assailant went still, hunched over the now unconscious and bloody detective, left arm straight out to the side. His face, if it could have been seen was blank with inner amusement. Slowly, he stood up, easily towering above them both at an over six foot height, chuckling like a wise man, before tossing back his sweatshirt hood to reveal a face smeared with blood, both fresh and maybe a few hours old, caked onto rugged features. Hair that might be either a chocolate brown or ebony black was undistinguished as well by the same substance, while narrowed eyes of hazel gazed at the albino in humour.

Without a word, he walked over, his heavy boots trudging through red-covered shards towards the boy whose face that was usually blank was now opened in an expression of fear. In one fluid movement, the man's fingers caught into the soft locks and pulled upwards, taking the child with them, and then threw him into the nearby wall. A crack of a various bone was heard, along with a small little cry, muffled by the carpet.

There was one left that he had to take care of, with the other two whimpering on the floor, almost motionless, and his eyes narrowed more. He had sworn that he had seen the littlest one when he had came in, and searched with his eyes, before he smirked. "L'il boy, you ca' hide from me." His voice was thick with an accent rich from either a English or Bulgarian descent, or maybe a mixture of both, gruff from his work. Moving to one knee, his hand flicked out to snatch under one of the couches, the longest, and grip onto a black shirt, tugging the small child out.

The picture painted here was almost like an animal that had been caught by it's scruff, all curled up with it's legs tucked close to it's torso, eyes squeezed shut. With only one, it wasn't completed for Zero, but it was a great likeness, as he tried to wriggle out of the clothing, to get free, but in vain.

They had been trapped, all of them.


End file.
